Heart Wants What It Wants
by dustylibrarian
Summary: no happy endings. Sherlock meets a girl with the hardest case yet. someone may be following her obsessively, but as she begins to crack, all the signs point to her being the main suspect of a murder case. Oh, and then he starts falling for her. Please read and review! Sherlock/OC
1. Chapter 1

_The wallpaper faded gradually as he made his way down the dimly lit hallway, pitiful lamps casting a sickly orange glow over the corners where shadows hugged at the slightly crooked passage. Rising anxiety quickened his heart, pulling his stomach up into his throat, choking him on the most horrifying of all illogical sensations. he could faintly hear music from the thin walls and with every step up to her door his entire mind screamed at him to turn around, run away, leave this nonsense behind-but he knew that was no longer an option. Tentatively, he knocked on the greying door. He made out a hollow laugh as the door creaked open and smoke billowed out, so thick he could hardly see the crowd of people making racket, sprawled on the floor and couch with cigarettes in almost every mouth. She froze at the sight of him, but regained her composure before he could even take note. _

_She had eyeliner smeared everywhere, he could hardly make out the piercing green eyes, they seemed incredibly dark now-her hair was piled in a furious tangle, dark strands falling down. blue shadows were printed against the porcelain skin under layers of eyeshadow and mascara. as she pulled a drag of a cigarette deeply into her lungs and leaned against the doorway, any previous light vanished. The brightness that lit up the rooms she entered was gone, replaced with a dark shadow that clung to her like poisonous gas. as she stared him down with cold, judgemental eyes, there was not one shred of anything but the ice exterior. _

_misery, hollow freezing stress clenched his insides and did not release. she smirked and extended a naked leg, she was wearing nothing but a tattered tank top and underwear. he stopped the rushing noise in his ears from completely overwhelming him and took note of the irritation near her nostrils where she had been snorting god knows what, the redness of lips from dehydration due to prolonged drinking, shadows under her eyes indicating a lack of sleep for at least three days, weight loss from alcohol induced vomiting combined with severe food restriction-_

"_examining me?" the voice was cold and foreign, he hardly recognized it. a wicked smile tugged at her lips, it appeared she was eliciting some sick delight from the effect her sickly appearance had on him. "you really thought you knew me, didnt you? I told you so many times Sherlock Holmes, I am the harbinger of evil. I wish I could say I gave a fuck, but I dont."_

_It wasnt her, it wasnt her, it wasnt her-_

"_sera-I-I dont think you're well-"_

_a mirthless, cruel laugh made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. she pushed herself away from the door, walking languidly behind him, circling him. her face was impassive, mocking him with the simpering curvature of her lips. "oh, darling Sherlock Holmes, you are so very intelligent. yet you miss the glaring truth. run around calling yourself a 'sociopath', yet you care deeply for the people in your life, pretending to care for nothing but your work, putting up a theatrical charade just to entertain your whirring mind-yet it never occurred to you that I could-"at this she prodded a slender finger into his chest, leaning to whisper into his ear, but it wasn't the usual welcome warmth. He shivered and felt fear gather at the edge of his mind. "wreck you. Did it really never occur to you," she was speaking in a quiet hiss, her words slipping out like a poison laced needle that stung upon impact, "that you have been nothing more than a conquest? You were nothing more than a wall to break through, brick by brick, and now that I have done so," She leaned in and breathed in his ear, but it felt alien and made his shudder, her touch was clammy, this wasn't seraphina, but rather the demon trapped in her body, finally released to wreak havoc- "I am going to step over you and never look back."_

_he had known what was going to happen since she had disappeared, he made all the logical conclusion, but still when the words spilled out of her mouth and landed on his collarbone, there was a knife of absolute destruction that tore through the fortified walls of his mind, leaving a glaring hole that sucked up all the thoughts he had held at bay like a vacuum. he felt his knees weaken and nearly fell but grabbed onto the wall, biting his lip and refusing to look at the demon staring out through her eyes. _

"_this. isnt. you." he managed through gritted teeth. she sauntered back to the doorway, her hand on the knob. _

"_oh, but it is. please dont come back looking for the simpering maiden who took your virginity, you won't find her. She's been dead for five years, and I may have the devil on my side but I'm no necromancer." She gave a smile of conquest that did not reach the flint in her eyes. _

"_Seraphina-" he tried to keep the pain at bay, frantically patching up the wreckage she had blown into his mind and sewing his thoughts back together, but to little avail. she began to close the door and though he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, it couldn't stop the tears that fell onto his cold cheeks, tracing rivulets down the fair skin. _

"_Goodbye Sherlock Holmes."_

_the door slammed shut. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello dear readers! So I am trying to get the hang of the banter between Sherlock and, well, everyone else. Hopefully its ok! Anyways, just a quick forewarning about this story-it is going to be very, very intense. Some disturbing stuff will be going on. But seeing as everyone here is Sherlock fan, that shouldn't be a problem, right?**

**Another little note: This story takes place just after season 3 episode 1, after the empty hearse incident, but before John meets Mary. I have finished season 3, I just wanted the timeline of the story to sort of veer in a different direction. So no Mary, sorry! Shes one of my faves. Anyhoos, feel free to read and review…but…yeah…those little review boxes…so intricate, yet so simple…XD**

John Watson was literally just settling down for a nice cup of tea when his obnoxious partner in crime came barging in with what appeared to be an aquarium of newts. He barely looked over his newspaper, reaching for the sugar.

"Live animals now? Seem like there might be some animal cruelty laws against microwaving newts."

Sherlock was alive with movement, tossing the crate of startled creatures onto the counter unceremiously before striding furiously to his laptop, tapping his feet and fingers impatiently.

"salamanders, John. There's a distinct lack of water in that aquarium which would signify that it's inhabitants are in fact land dwelling creatures, and newts are aquatic, tchach." He spun around, his coat flicking out behind him.

"Right, obviously. Think you could tone it down a bit, I'm trying to have a relaxing Saturday morning and all-"

"my mind does not allow for relaxation john, there is no rest today. Agh, why is this laptop slower than Lestrades uncomprehending brain right now? I need a case, anything, something."

Sherlock stared at the screen impatiently, folding his long legs up onto the chair and steepling the gangly fingers. John sighed.

"Sherlock, I really wouldn't go chasing crimes right about now. You just recued England from a terrorist attack and rose from the grave; surely that's more than enough for a lifetime"

Sherlock shook this off, preferring to browse the news and website with a gaze that could have cut straight through the laptop screen. Just as he was beginning to enjoy the rare peace that came with Sherlock's brief distraction, Mrs. Hudson gave her usual Whoo-hoo at the door with a gentle rap, appearing bumbling at the entrance after a moment.

"mrs. Hudson, how lovely, would you make the tea-"

"not your housekeeper dear, I just came up to tell you boys something."

"You've rented out the downstairs flat. Though whoever took it must have been considerably rushed, the state of that place-"

"Now look here, that's my flat you're talking about, and how on earth did you know that, I haven't told a soul."

"OBSERVATION Mrs Hudson, though the obvious answer is sitting on the front stoop so it can hardly even be called that, it's more of a tripping hazard at this point."

John gave Mrs. Hudson a look and they both scurried over to peer downwards out the window at the front step. There sat a young girl, cigarette smoke spilling out from her hands and drifting upwards to the window. Long, skinny legs stretched out and dark hair covered her back and face. Several young men were standing circled around her, appearing to be chatting. A bottle of something sat at her side and she reached to take a swig-whiskey?

"oh dear…" Mrs Hudson clutched at her chest. "I didn't know she was a smoker. Though I don't suppose it really matters, the flat is quite dilapidated-she said she hoped you two don't mind too much noise, she's very social, see."

Sherlock groaned.

"Of course we mind noise, Mrs. Hudson, I have work to do, though an extraordinary lack of it seems to be tormenting me right now, but typically I have thinking to do, ach." He got up and strutted to the kitchen, assumingly to being the salamander experiment. John retired from the strange scene unfolding below the flat and returned to his tea.

Sherlock gave a yelp of excitement that made John splash some tea on himself.

"bloody hell, Sherlock, what now-"

"It's Lestrade, he's got something. Lets go."

"I haven't finished my tea-"

"Mrs Hudson can finish it for you, come on."

Sherlock was already halfway down the stairs before John even got up. He found his twitchy counterpart waiting in the coat room, fastening a scarf snugly around his neck due to the freezing weather.

They pushed through the door and the putrid smell of tobacco pierced johns nostrils. There, leaning on the opposite railing with a cigarette in one hand and bottle in the other was their new neighbor. John blinked once to see if he was hallucinating, because this girl was strange to look at it, in every sense of the word. Her jaw was slender and almost nymph like, she looked slightly inhuman. The palest skin contrasted with bright green eyes and curving eyeliner. He was also a little surprised to find that she wore nothing but a miniscule dress, torn at the edges, yet wasn't shivering. He found himself being regarded fearlessly, her eyes scathed over the pair of them without the slightest sign of embarrassment or intimidation. The strange face cocked to the side, smirking. John extended a hand.

"Hi. We're your neighbors. 221b." She flicked her eyes down to his hand and ignored the offering with a wry twist of the mouth before taking a sip of whiskey. John hesitated and drew his hand back. "um, Im John and this is-"

"Sherlock Holmes." He was surprised to hear the low, sultry voice interrupt him. Sherlock seemed a little transfixed at the moment, regarding the girl as though she were an experiment about to implode. "nice to meet you…I guess. Try not to get me tangled up in your murder, I make enough trouble on my own." John tried not to appear startled, though it took more to ruffle his feathers these days than someone knowing their names.

"And you are?" Sherlock spoke at last,and John was relieved to hear it was in his usual rude and intrusive tone with little thought for manners, though John doubted this girl would be offended.

"oh no. I won't trouble you with that. Knowing my name means associating with me. You seem like good people, it should stay that way, don't you think?" She remained stony and languidly pulled the door open, the group of boys following her like dogs with wagging tongues. John made her out sauntering down the hallway before the door drifted shut.

The doctor shook his head of the strange interaction and turned to Sherlock, who looked a bit frozen, brows furrowed and deep in thought.

"Sherlock?" The detective snapped to and was alive with action once more.

"Right. Taxi!"

He hailed a cab and the two hopped in.

"well, that was a bit odd, wasn't it? Well, whats she do then, eh? I'm sure you made an astute analysis after that lingering interaction."

Sherlock was gazing out the window.

"Nothing."

"eh? Oh, I was just asking what she does, you haven't said yet, I'm a tad curious-"

"Nothing, John, I mean I couldn't see anything. She's as blank as a slate. Bites her fingernails. Thrift shops. Does doesn't wear shoes count?"

John was a bit disappointed.

"oh, well, maybe it was just odd today. Though now my curiosity's peaked, I am in the mood for a case after all."

"Oh _that's_ the spirit!"


	3. Chapter 3

**This is shorter guys, hopefully that's ok**

Sherlock was pacing back and forth in the flat, wringing his hands. He glanced at the clock. 3:47 am. He ran a hand through his hair with frustration as his mind rebelled furiously under the extreme pressure of absolute quiet. His mind raced over the case for the hundredth time, reviewing the victim and killer in his mind, lining up all the possible outcomes and connections. He was about to wake John when he heard a noise from downstairs, footsteps and the front door opening. The downstairs neighbors had been making noise until two, but then it had seemingly gone quiet, assumingly all the inebriated teenagers had dropped off into a slobbery slumber. He dashed to the window and peeked out the curtain.

There she was again. He peered out, trying to make out a single discriminating factor that would give the mysterious shadow of a girl away. She appeared startlingly slender in the darkness as she lit a cigarette-_good god, how many was that today, two packs?_-not like cared anyways, he would've been smoking himself if it weren't for the blasted inconvenience. She still wore nothing but the dark, tattered dress, but did not appear cold. _How?_ It was January? His mind raced through the possibility of a disease debilitating nerves to the epidermis, but quickly eliminated it, there would need to be some sign of injury, and due to the amount of skin exposed he had seen no visible scars. He leaned in a little closer, his breath briefly clouding his view as it fogged the window.

"What are you doing?" He hissed into the darkness.

Almost on cue, as if she had heard, she looked back and saw Sherlock in the window. Stoic and nonchalant as ever she barely flinched at the recognition of being watched. The sylphlike face cocked to the side and he barely made out a little smile before she slipped off her shoes and placed them on the front stoop right next to the railing. She gave one backward glance up towards him and smiled before turning around, and with the grace of deer, she lithely leapt from the stoop into the empty streets, sprinting into darkness. He watched as the night shadows swallowed the slender figure.

He retreated from the window and returned to the placid flat. His eyes flicked over the books, all read and devoured, the newspapers and open laptop that promised no new cases at this ungodly hour. Frustrated and tense with the lack of stimulation he grunted disgustedly before throwing himself into the chair, legs folded up petulantly.

She had seen him, after all, recognized him, what about the smile, was that meant to be _mocking?_ Who cared, she was just his neighbor. Or his latest case. Hah. Sherlock snorted out loud at this. Silence thundered in response. The clock ticked by, marking the passing of each second with honorable diligence. The tap must have been leaking, he could hear the drip from the kitchen, it was at least three seconds faster than it had been in previous nights-

"Right" He shot up to his feet and grabbed his coat. No cases, no experiments, no mass murderers, no terrorist plots-there was but one thing left to soothe the ache in his rotting mind.

He grabbed a scarf before bounding out the door and taking off in the direction of his strange new neighbor.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock was only slightly worried he wouldn't be able to deduce which direction the spritely creature had gone seeing as she was barefoot, but it wasn't long before his problem was solved for him as he stood observing a sign briefly, determining her most likely course of action.

"cigarette?" He whipped around to find her offering a cigarette barely clasped in slender hands.

"no thanks. I don't smoke."

"Liar. If you tell lies, what am I supposed to do?"

"Whatever you please, that's what most people seem to preoccupy their sull little minds with-"

"but wouldn't that impede your entire reason for being here?"

Her lips twitched, the cigarette still held out to him. His eyes flicked from it to her, then back before grabbing it. "Light?" she pulled a matchbox from her chest and struck one against the side of the box, the flash of light burning briefly against his eyes, staining them with color before fading into adjustment with the night. As soon as she held the withering flame beneath the cigarette and he inhaled, the stimulant cleared his head, sent all the disorganization shuffling back to it's usual place.

"How could you tell? That I smoke, I mean."

The eyes flashed over his face.

"what, do you think I'm going to whip out some science of deduction bullshit for you? You live in a haze, Sherlock Holmes. Anyone that looks that longingly at another smoker is just trying really hard not to ask for a drag."

She turned away and began walking up the road.

"well then?"

For once in his life he felt a little stupid. "Well what?"

She cocked an eyebrow.

"Are you coming?" He glanced briefly behind him, still able to make out the faint, warm glow of Baker street. "Right." He followed her as she led him down an alleyway, weaving through back streets until the arrived at a brick apartment building. Built in the 1940's, renovated in the 70's most likely populated with low income Caucasian bachelors and college students. Though he wasn't quite sure where the girl fit into those categories. He could faintly make out music coming from the lower levels. This was quickly turning into a decision he might regret.

She put her cigarette out and he followed suit. She didn't even glance at him, expecting him to tail her as she pushed open the door and made her way into the basement of the building, through narrow winding corridors that seemed to grow dimmer and more degraded with each step, as did the music become louder. As they neared it's source, there were small crowds of people, couples snogging and smokers filling the already hazy passageway with billows of tobacco clouds. Now she stopped before they went down a narrow set of stairs, looking straight into his eyes fearlessly, unafraid of the raw, calculative ability that now skinned her in search of answers.

"I hope nicotine isn't your only weakness, Sherlock Holmes. That would make you _so _boring." She traipsed down the stairs with ease, despite the darkness of their surroundings. As they descended he could make out a smoke filled room with possibly a hundred and twenty people, roughly. Most of them appeared in their early twenties, almost all were drinking and dancing, some form of club he postulated. Though there was something a little darker about the atmosphere he decided, this wasn't the typical bouncy club London usually sported with fruity drinks and ecstasy tablets being smashed into the pounding dance floor. No, everyone here seemed quite standoffish and judging by the choices of drink he could distinguish, there weren't any undecided males aboard this ship. Most carried forty ounce malt liquor or a bottle of something to themselves; he spotted a young woman carrying a bottle of wine and a pint of gin in the other. Indeed, this crowd of his neighbors _friends_ (theoretical friends, that was, he hadn't drawn any conclusions yet) took their inebriation very seriously. The detective realized he had drawn a few glances from his smooth suit and the sharp hemlines of his jacket. Not only this, but he was examining the room in his usual manner, which according to John could be insensitive at time. Inwardly, he scoffed at the irrelevance of manners in his line of work. About now was when a small distraction arrived after having abandoned him, carrying a fifth of whiskey. She grabbed his hand to pull him through the crowd, at least that was what Sherlock deduced, though it somehow seemed unnecessary, the place wasn't nearly as crowded as most clubs, people seemed to allow space, but nonetheless the freezing cold hand grasped his and pulled him to a corner further away from the crowd. He assumed the music was quieter from this angle, it certainly was logical, but the thing he still was pondering as they wove through the crowd was the tiny hand clasped onto his and the sudden jump of his heart. He shook it away, the usual reaction upon human touch was an increase in pulse, that made sense-but then his heart beat even a little faster, skipping a beat when she moved her hand more directly over his fingers, the smooth skin as cold as the ground outside. His breath hitched a little-a sign of physical attraction? That would prove to be a confusing thought to wrestle with. He pushed it to the back of his mind, continuing to focus on the surroundings and discerning the identity of the strange girl that now released his hand as they found themselves at a small table nestled into a dark corner. The music was muffled due to the odd layout of the basement. She perched on the stool next to the tiny little table and motioned he do the same. Balancing onto the wooden barstool, he watched her movements as she placed the whiskey bottle on the table and grabbed two of the five glasses stacked to the side of the table. Wordlessly, she poured the glasses halfway and pushed one towards him.

Now she regarded him. Green eyes, color discernible even in this poor lighting and the smirk returned.

"drink or leave. This is my world, Sherlock."

"I don't even know your name, I may as well be drinking with a stranger, which isn't an activity I would typically leave my flat to attend. I need your name at least."

"no. that's trouble you don't need. Trust me, I'm bad karma."

"then why did you even let me follow you? You could've given me the slip. You know I'm curious about my new neighbor, and johns just dying to know what your occupation is."

She shrugged, appearing every bit careless and apathetic.

"I do what I want."

"aha. One question answered. I'm going to throw the word narcissist on the table, but you still have time to redeem your-well not your name, but your character." He leaned back, hands placed under his chin out of habit. She leaned back, swilling the glass. Sherlocks mind calmed slightly at the soothing tug of a mystery slowly unraveling itself.

"Ok. How about a game."

"I think you already know my answer to that."

She laughed, the first time he had seen her do it, the lips giving way to show dazzling teeth and her face looking momentarily unguarded-he hadn't realized just how stony the girl was until the genuine grin put it in perspective.

"Ok then willing participant one. One question for one drink. Any question but my name." Sherlock's mind darted furiously back and forth, almost giving himself mental whiplash as he shifted around for questions, really good ones…he leaned forward eagerly and in his excitement of the chase inhaled the scent of heady honeysuckle, almost sickly sweet and fresh. The smell caught him off guard, it was quite strong. He shook it from his mind and peered at the elfish face before him.

"right. Where were you-"

"uh-uh." She tipped her head towards the glass at his side. "drink first."

Sherlock grimaced and slid the glass in front of him. This hadn't occurred to him until now, he would have to pace his sips accordingly otherwise his blood alcohol content would be elevated beyond the point of proper function before he had even finished the glass. He wrinkled his nose and took a sip of the putrid liquid.

She laughed again, not out of actual amusement though.

"you call that a drink? I'm going to need a little more effort on your part if you want to dive into my personal tidbits."

She was not to be convinced, he could tell from the steely resolution on her face. He sighed exasperatedly before taking another very large gulp that burned his throat on the way down. This was going to be an uphill battle.

"right. Where were you born?"

"suburbs. West end. Posh area."

He noted this and the considerable clash it had with her current state of dress, slight intoxication and probable lack of funds. Ok, no answers there.

"where did you go to school?"

"Homeschooled until high school. Pearson academy."

Academy? Private school? Still no pieces were fitting together. A possible rebellious stage. She nodded towards the glass and he reluctantly took a generous swig.

"ok, hows your relationship with you parents?'

"Excellent."

The pieces he thought would click together suddenly became incompatible again and the image he had been briefly putting together collapsed again. She wasn't lying either, her tone was passive and her answers succinct enough that she hardly thought without answering.

"tut tut, drink up." In ode to his obligation she drained half the contents of her glass with ease and he drank as well. She reached over for the bottle and replenished the contents of hig glass, an impish grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. The warmth of alcohol was already beginning to cloud at the edges of Sherlock mind. He kept it at bay, trying to recollect all his mind at once and distract from the looming onslaught of drunken stupor.

"ok so…nice home, nice school, nice parents…do you have any mental illnesses that you have either been previously diagnosed with or believe that you may display symptoms of?"

Another laugh at this one as she reached for cleavage and began to light up a cigarette.

"that's a decent appraisal, I daresay I'm flattered. If by mental illness you mean consistent symptoms, then no. I have been to psychiatrists, and I've never been diagnosed with anything."

Well shit. Sherlock tried to race back through the questions he had concocted but they weren't as legible to read through the blur of tipsiness, which wasn't helped by the sip he was now taking to pay for his question.

"not crazy then."

"no, no, definitely crazy. Just not by any standards health practitioners are used to."

Sherlock furrowed his brow and suddenly felt rather warm in the club. He pulled off his jacket, struggling momentarily with it, realizing with this that he didn't have very many more questions left if he wanted to make it home with his dignity.

"ok. Have you ever experienced the death of a loved one?"

"yes, but I was very young, I grieved in a healthy manner and moved past it. That's not what you're looking for, trust me."

Sherlock groaned as he finished the glass. He was officially roasted, this was it. She finished her glass as well. He threw his hands up.

"right! I give up. I have no idea how to even start deciphering your personality. At the very least you have provided me some entertainment. Though I am becoming increasingly inebriated at four in the morning, that might actually be a first for me." She smiled and when she leaned over to grab his glass, he suddenly noticed something he couldn't believe he hadn't seen before. He grabbed her arm and flipped it upside so that the white scar was exposed, the flesh slightly raised where her wrist had been slit downwards from her wrist halfway to her elbow. It was a thin scar, obviously patched up quickly and done with a very sharp blade.

"well well well, look what we've been hiding." The green eyes appraised him coolly.

"not hiding. Why would my arms be bare if I was hiding it?" Her logic was sound as she pulled the frigid limb away smoothly. "self inflicted. Not a suicide attempt though." Sherlock tilted his head at this, gazing at the foreign face; a narrow nose slightly upturned at the end-not a suicide attempt. Even less was making sense, he felt like he was moving backwards. "Any other questions, then?" he was about to open his mouth and realized the loss equilibrium. Damn, he was drunk already. One more question? What would he ven ask, none of the questions she answered had been any help at all. His constantly busy mind began to slow, taking more time to participate in each thought. As she looked at him, eyebrows raised expectantly, dark eyelashes fanned outwards-

"have you ever fallen in love?" it was out of his mouth before he could retract, though in retrospect, it seemed a decently logical question. After all, he had been asking logical questions, why not ask an illogical one?

"no."

Theory number seventy two crushed. No mental illness, no bad family history, no heartbreaks or terrible losses to cope with. He battled with this predicament of unsolved puzzle, but the alcohol was really kicking in now, making the whole ordeal seem far less important.

"why don't you ask me a question."

She finished her cigarette and rubbed it into the table.

"yeah, ok. Are you drunk right now?"

"yes. Well, decently. Not knackered, per say, more like severely tipsy."

"right. Do you have any mental illnesses?"

"self diagnosed. Highly functional sociopath."

"hmm. Have you ever fallen in love?"

"no."

"are you a virgin?"

"yes-" the embarrassing truth slipped from his mouth before he knew it, she had been asking him questions quickly. He felt his cheeks flush.

"Its fine. Its not a bad thing, trust me. Have you ever kissed a girl? Just curious now, sorry."

Sherlock nodded, grabbing for the glass. Clearly, he wasn't quite drunk enough for this conversation. She grabbed the glass, however, and hopped off the stool, offering her hand. He refused it and grabbed his coat.

"don't you think we should be getting home, Sherlock Holmes?"

"definitely."

He followed her out.

They hardly uttered a word besides, 'cigarette' and 'yes please' on the way back. The night was frigid and the sun was just starting to rise, tinging the horizon pink. He scrambled inside the foray of the building where she stood, giving him her usual look of modestly scintillating judgement.

"well then. Until next time you're bored?"

Charlock shrugged, hardly aware of proper conduct in this quirky sort of development and disregarded any thoughts on the matter, settling on his own methods as usual.

"That will be sooner than you like."

She tossed a mane of black hair behind her before turning and making her way down the hallway to her flat. She peeked backwards to find him standing in the middle of foray watching her leave.

"Oh, and Sherlock?"

"yeah?"

"Seraphina."

His mind gasped in relief. One mystery solved. Too tipsy to grasp the nights details, he stumbled upstairs to pass out in his bed.

_Seraphina. _Wings of fire. Interesting.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello good readers! this is a beastly long chapter, but it begins the plot, which is going to pick up super, duper quick. be prepped for nonstop action after this one.**

**And, of course, please read and review! I would really appreciate getting to know what you guys like or dont, and of course, romance is very nigh! tehhe XD  
**

Midafternoon light peeked in through the curtain, catching dust motes floating in the air, settling back to the carpet to be undisturbed for less than ten seconds. Despite being bitterly cold out, the sun was shining with not one cloud to mask it. It was Sunday morning and the street outside the baker street apartment seemed lazier than usual today. John Watson happily hummed, having hardly wiped the sleep from his eyes as he shuffled to make some tea. No alarming crashes or exploding noises, no wailing violin, no lanky detective shaking him awake to rush off at eight in the morning for a case. No case, not yet at least. John practically skipped over to the record player, removing a pile of books with a great cloud of dust. He picked out a collection of 40's jazz and clicked the black disk in place, placing the needle down and it fuzzed into resonance. The crackle and soft recording was only enhanced by the record player. It was going to be a beautiful day.

John pattered back to the kettle to finish the tea.

He was briefly distracted from the ritual by a ghastly moan at the kitchen entrance. His flat mate stood in last night's clothing, hair mussed terribly and a distinctly green pallor.

"alka seltzer. All of it." John nodded dutifully as Sherlock retreated back to curl up in his chair. He grinned as soon as the tall figure left the kitchen and took an extra few minutes preparing the tea and seltzer.

"john! Unless if you want me to yack on our living room rug-"

"Right, right, coming." Sherlock grabbed the seltzer and chugged it, though it did nothing for the distinct lack of color in his cheeks. John couldn't help but grinning over his tea.

"whats the other guy look like?" he cackled as Sherlock rolled his eyes and glared.

"I pray to the most sensible deity that _she _is utterly miserable." John guffawed, slapping his knee.

"hahaha, you are in the most absolutely terrible state I have ever seen. I regret only that I did not wake up early enough to see you stumble in." he chuckled, nearly choking on his tea. Sherlock was all daggers and curled lip.

"So the neighbor then? Ever find out what she does?"

Sherlock sighed in frustration.

"no, not a damn shred yet. Closed as any books ever gonna get, I'm pulling out my investment before the water gets hot." John raised an eyebrow at the odd choice of phrasing.

"well, whatever suits you. What about breakfast? I'm really not in the mood to share the kitchen with your experiments."

Sherlock grimaced a little.

"yeah, yeah." He got up a little slower than usual, much to johns delight, who was practically bouncing ahead of him down the stairs.

"goodness, aren't we cheery today." He heard Sherlock grumble behind him.

John opened the door, taken aback by the biting cold and by the small person standing behind it.

"morning." John attempted to regard the strange looking creature casually. Ripped fishnets and another flimsy dress today, though the cigarette was in its usual place. Sherlock nearly bumped into the doctor as he came out the door. He turned to her.

"oh, morning Seraphina."

"mr. Holmes. You should get some aspirin, that headache is practically blinding me just looking at you."

Sherlock pursed his lips at the lounging girl.

"drinking isn't exactly a habit of mine, now one I'm particularly keen on taking up with regular occurrence seeing as-"

"It totally fucks up your body?" the girl sighed. John edged his way to the street to hail a cab, feeling suddenly like he was intruding on a personal conversation, but listening in from a distance anyways.

"I don't suppose the point is to live long and happily ever after." Sherlock crossed his arms.

"So you want to die."

"not right now."

"then when?" The girl smirked, as was becoming trademark.

"oh, you'll know it when you see it. It comes and goes." She trailed her hand along the railway as she drifted back inside. Sherlock looked put off, but a little less nauseous at least. A cab pulled up and the two of them scooted off towards a proper breakfast.

John watched his partner drum his fingers constantly on the table, taking occasional sips of coffee. Much to johns displeasure, the hangover had appeared to have dissipated, leaving in it's wake a well-rested and extremely antsy Sherlock Holmes.

"Don't know if this cafes going to be around much longer."

John slammed his coffee down in exasperation.

"oh god, please don't, I just ate-"

"owner just picked up biting his nails, hasn't showered, obviously recently gained weight due to the limping caused by tender feet-"

John growled miserably.

"Sherlock, damnit, you do not have to run me through the details, if you feel inclined to tell me something you can just say it for heavens sakes."

"you haven't heard the most disturbing aspect of our little managers imminent divorce and eventual descent into depression."

"And I don't want to. I just ate my breakfast, somehow without looking at slimy specimens, microwaved body parts or picking up mistaking jars of fungi for jam-"

"I tore the bloody label off, it wasn't even red-"

"ok, well, it was pink, next time just-use a pickle jar or something."

"how would I get a pickle jar? You don't eat pickles, there wouldn't be pickles or a pickle jar in the flat in the first place-"

John rubbed his temples, beginning to feel the gentle lull of the morning be gradually grated away by the abrasive personality acrost him.

"oh my goodness, is it noon already? Better get back before the lunch rush-"

Sherlocks phone buzzed, instilling a sense of dread in John as he realized that his day was about to be savagely torn away from him. Sherlock jumped up, surprising the elderly couple behind them.

"aha! It's Lestrade. Says we are needed immediately. Important. Excellent, come on John."

"right. Of course. Sunday. Nice, pleaseant Sunday. What about church? Doesn't Lestrade go to church? Someone has to still go to church…"

They arrived at the scene in hardly five minutes, and John was a little surprised to find that it was hardly ten minutes from their flat, slightly north of Baker street. Lestrade looked quite worn when they clambered under the yellow tape blocking off a small bookshop.

"Right, you two, it's the flat above this bookshop, come on in. This one's a real bugger. Name was Rick Olson, had this shop for about six years now, steady business, but certainly wasn't anything to kill for. He barely made the mortgage the last few months according to the books."

They wove through the tiny little shop and up the creaky stairs to dimly lit studio with peeling wallpaper, heaps of books and papers everywhere and an extreme excess of dust.

"not exactly keen on dusting, this one." John murmured.

Sherlock shipped over to the corner of the room, twitching slightly as his bright eyes took in every detail and uploaded the information to his hard drive of a mind.

The body was in the bathroom, and it was beginning to reek due to the damp warmth in the apartment. A greying, middle aged man with an extra forty pounds lay face down in a pool of blood. His throat had been slit and a shattered pair of spectacles lay just out of reach of the fellow's hands, assumingly where he had dropped them after having them in his hands. Sherlock made a semi-circle around the man as best as he could, considering the miniscule bathroom. He bent the gangly torso under the sink to inspect the neck better and peer at the face, which lay slightly to the left. He began the usual inspection of clothing and then proceeded to provide the same scrutiny to the remainder of the bathroom.

Lestrade flapped his arms at his sides in curiosity.

"yes?"

Lestrade cleared his throat as Sherlock flipped the glass shut and tucked it back into his pocket before walking to the two of them, looking as haughty as possible.

"um, well, anything?"

"I really thought it would be completely obvious."

Sunday. It was Sunday. John clenched his fists.

"Sherlock, maybe lets not do this today."

The pale detective sighed huffily.

"Fine, the killer was left handed from the angle of the gash, this poor bastard was divorced, single, no girlfriends since, unless if you count the cat that died about half a year ago, traveled to the coast this last weekend, Brighton, I'm assuming seeing as the weather was fair, has one sibling that travels and the two rarely connect, no wealthy relatives, but certainly has plenty of friends, most likely college mates. They went out two nights ago, check from the bar is on the table, drinks for five people all paid by our victim implying that the victim makes up for his shortcoming in entertaining with his generosity. Now, he didn't recognize the killer, there was panic, he tried to lock himself in the bathroom, there are scrapes on the wall where he tried to shut the door and locked it just as the killer wedged his feet, hence the rubber scuff marks. Black shoes, I'd estimate a size…fourteen? If not, very large feet. The killer pushed the door open, our victim panics further and stumbles against the sink, getting the back of his shirt wet, you can see where the material darkens at hip level. Our victim knows that the killer has a knife, otherwise he may not have tried to lock himself in the bathroom in the first place. He drops the glasses and turns around to reach for a razor from the bathtub, the curtain is pulled aside here where he lunged, but the rest is neatly tucked into the bathtub, indicating that he had barely made two steps in the direction of some sort of weapon as the killer grabs him by the hair, pulling a few out at the front of the hairline and creating redness where the skin was stretched, the victim expects a right handed killer, moves his head to the left to duck away and try to shield his main jugular, but the killer surprises him and swiftly severs the throat."

Lestrade nodded, pretending to note the same things and look a little less dull in the presence of the mad genius before them, spitting out his analysis coldly and placidly, as if discussing the weather.

"Now, sherlock, what about the killer? Well, my friends, we have the most delightful of all things, a manic killer, about to make his rounds. Possibly a jipped customer or a previous employee. Now, lets pull up all the resumes our little friend has on file."

They followed Sherlock who by his quick peek had already located the cabinet file containing these documents. He flipped through several manila files before whipping out one and pulling out resumes and applications for the bookshop.

"Theres an employee that works here, where is he?"

Lestrade looked grateful to finally be of use.

"He's on his way to the station getting ready to answer questions. We're about to head down there-"

'don't bother, I already got a cab." John looked apologetically to Lestrade before skittering after his partner, whose coat was already whipped around the corner and down the stairs.

As soon as they arrived, Sherlock was up in arms with Anderson, who was refusing to allow him to speak with Rick Olsens previous employee. After Lestrade intervened between the two, who were becoming increasingly obscene, Sherlock was admitted to the office where a scrawny teenage boy sat, speckled with the evidence of adolescent acne and greasy hair. Sherlock sat opposite the lounging boy, who appeared fairly apathetic to the situation.

"name?"

"jay. James, I guess."

"right James, how long did you work for Mr Olson?"

The kid stretched his feet out a little bit, scratching under his chin, looking oddly reminiscent of a stretched baboon.

"uh, lemme see, around three months. I weren't real interested in books, it just seemed like, real easy, you know? Weren't no liftin or much talkin to people."

"yes, I cant imagine your social skills to be of a very high caliber."

"eh?"

"I said, who worked there before you?"

"oh, some chubby girl, but she was talkin all the time, I think that's why Rick done and fired her."

Sherlock leaned back and steepled his fingers at this.

"huh. All right, not that you will recall due to your extraordinarily small mind capacity, but were there ever any customers that were displeased with Mr Olsons services, or perhaps any customers or people that you saw that held a grudge against him?"

The teen appeared confused by the insult and answered a slowly, the stupid words fumbling from his mouth.

"uuhhhh…everyone that came in was fine, weren't really no one that didn't like it. Mr Olson kept to hisself pretty much, never did much outside readin. He had friends, his old college pals, but they was real nice, he was kinda annoying but they liked him just fine. I mean, there weren't really nothing that I remember, he was alright by everyone I saw."

Sherlock was flinching visibly at the boys massacre of grammar.

'right, you've been-mmph."

He rose and jerked his head to John who followed him back out. Lestrade stood chatting to another officer.

"Well, anything?" he looked hopefully to Sherlock and John.

"absolutely nilch, it's bloody fantastic. The other employee was female, the murder was a male, at least six foot five and large too, the kid is obviously too scrawny and short to fit those qualifications. We may need to question the girl though. Maisy Drew, I believe? The only female applicant in the file of resumes, and possibly our only lead. Address was 2956 tulburrow street, west area. Come on, John!"

"hey, hold on, she might be out! We cant just call or do this the normal way for once?"

"tchach! She graduated university four years ago and isn't married, of course she home!"

John shook his head and followed the blur of action out back into the streets, which were rapidly dimming as clouds began to gather and the first raindrops melted into the pavement.


	6. Chapter 6

Grey air was sucking at the corners of the cab. The perfect day had been swiftly overtaken by a storm and was now being gazed at with a lack of enthusiasm by john. Sherlock sat as unflappable and apathetic as ever.

"Sherlock, did it perhaps occur to you that maybe you didn't need to drag me out here?"

Sherlock snorted and the cab pulled up to a line of rowhouses with neat little front gardens. He opened the door.

"Don't be silly, John, you're my backup."

John harrumphed at this and followed suit.

Two hours after they had been to Mrs Drews home and Sherlock had successfully made her feel inferior and obtained all the information he needed, he was sitting perfectly still, perched on his chair, hands out and making motions from time to time, muttering occasionally.

John was about to pull out biscuits when there was a knock on the door. He glanced over to Sherlock, who hadn't budged, not even opening his eyes.

"right, don't worry, I'll get it." He opened the door and was surprised to find the skinny girl standing there.

"oh hello." She wordlessly slipped past him lithely and traipsed into the living room, plopping down on the chouch opposite Sherlock, who hadn't bothered to leave his mind palace for their visitor.

"Boy, it must be spacious in there."

John warily entered the sitting area.

"um, can I possibly help you with something?"

"oh yeah. I lost my cat, I need both of you on the case first thing. I've even got a title on hand, 'the vanishing calico.'" Sherlock snorted at this, but didn't acknowledge the young woman otherwise. "but really, I'm having a thing, It's gonna be loud as fuck, so deal with it or leave."

Sherlocks eyes snapped open.

"I have a very important case, I have little patience for the follies of drug addicts and teenage girls."

She leaned back, hardly fazed at the sharp tone and cold eyes glaring daggers at her.

"Like I said, deal with it. You had fair warning, go to the library or something."

Sherlock laughed hollowly.

"The library? This must be a joke. I will have you put out as soon as mrs. Hudson hears about this-"

She got up languidly.

"heavens, you really are adolescent, aren't you? Don't feel bad, you're invited obviously. Both of you, I suppose." The door shut behind her and her voice echoed in the flat. Sherlock sprang to his feet.

"right, well I've got nothing. This case is going nowhere. It has to have been a one time incident. Absolutely no other suspects and if there were they don't fit the criteria."

He threw his arms around, pacing back and forth, raising dust from the carpet.

"agh, it's not right though! There's no motivation! Why in the world would an enormous man skilled in combat sneak into an lonely divorcees flat and slit his throat? Why? Possible insanity? Maybe a stalker? But even if it were a stalker, witnesses and past employees concur that the only people in contact with our victim were friends, relatives and customers. With only five or six regular customers that even knew the old man, and every damn last of them is old and withered, blast!"

Sherlock flopped backwards into the chair, looking rather dejected.

"Look mate, why don't we go downstairs in a bit? Have a few rounds and get your mind off this business?"

"aargh, john you know I never relax when there is a case! Besides it's not the type of party you want to go to, trust me John."

John rolled his eyes.

"oh, come on. We shouldn't be totally hostile towards our neighbor. You know what, bugger this. Its Sunday and I'd like to relax. I'm taking a shower and we're going downstairs, I'm going to have a few rounds and you are going to be civil, damnit."

Ignoring the extremely disgruntled look on the dark haired man, john proceeded to the bathroom for a shower.

After wolfing down supper and showering, hardly two hours later, John was a little startled to hear quite a bit of commotion from the foray and 221C.

"This is a bad idea, john." Sherlock commented drily as the doctor leaned out the window, watching at least ten people walk up and inside, but from the looks of it, at least four other groups of similar sizes were already inside. John quietly agreed with his partner.

"Right, I want a round. Come on."

As they left the apartment, Mrs Hudson peeked down, looking a bit confused.

"oh hellow boys. Is there something going on? It's awfully loud down there-"

John smiled and waved her off.

"its fine, Mrs Hudson, just a little housewarming party I think."

"ooh, well you two behave!" Sherlock made a noise in his throat and adjusted the shoulders to the perfectly tailored suit.

There were at least twenty people outside of the door smoking and music and smoke were spilling out of the flats cracked door. They edged in. The flat was still as decrepit as it had been, but blue Christmas lights were hung around the walls, also serving as the only lighting. There was an enormous table set up in the far corner where at least fifty bottle of liquor stood. The age group was nearly impossible to identify. Forty year old sat smoking on a long couch against the wall, twenty year olds sat in circle in the middle of the floor, thirty year olds held wine glasses and beer in the kitchen, and John could have sworn there were even a few sixteen year olds. Sherlock looked entirely indifferent to his surroundings. They edged in and he craned to find the shadow of a girl amongst the swarm of people.

"There." Sherlock nodded to the mess of long dark hair. With eyeliner to her eyebrows and the same torn fishnets, she wore a tiny black dress that fell of the shoulders and fit to her form. She was walking past a table when a young man grabbed her and motioned to something on the table. She saw the two of them before taking a straw, leaning over and-

"oh shit, Sherlock, those are narcotics, that's illegal-"

"yes, obviously, but this was your idea and you dragged me down to this miserable pit, so you are going to have your bloody round and resist calling Lestrade."

John attempted to steady his nerves. He suddenly looked around the room again, realizing that the smoke in the room was not from cigarettes, that the people settled in circles on the floor were not playing cards, and that their hostess had just snorted some form of drug.

He wrung out his hands anxiously as she walked over to them. Despite the half empty bottle in her hands and having just ingested an ample amount of stimulant, she looked as nonchalant as ever.

"oh hello. You came. Beer, vodka or whiskey?"

"Whiskey." John croaked. Sherlock smiled at her, much to johns shock and horror.

"what are you drinking?"

"vodka."

"Vodka then." She led them to a cluster of chairs around a tiny little card table next to the kitchen. They sat and she came back with not a glass of whiskey, but a bottle, and a gallon of vodka. Sherlock tsked.

"my, you really are planning on dying early, aren't you?"

She laughed.

"oh, you have no idea. Go on, drink up. Youll need it, shits about to get really rowdy."

Johns stomach turned, and it had nothing to do with the swig of whiskey he had just taken.

"oh? Rowdier?"

She smiled evilly.

"oh yeah. Seriously, you have about fifteen minutes to get trashed."

She wasndered off, presumably to inhale more drugs, John thought bitterly, wishing direly he hadn't suggested this in the first place. He turned to Sherlock, who appeared to actually be taking her advice and was throwing back a glass of vodka, making a sour face as he slammed it down.

"what the hell? Youre drinking?"

"yes john. If I cannot solve the case right now, I may as well numb my overactive mind before it rips itself to shreds. And also, I would take her advice if I were you, I think shes been around this block more times than we will inour lifetimes combined." John was a little shocked to hear his self-righteous partner actually suggesting they follow someone elses advice. It was the straw that broke the camels back. Three glasses later, the bleary eyed men regarded each other.

"I have not done this level of binge drinking since college." John admitted and Sherlock chuckled.

Suddenly, about twenty more people poured in the door, carrying a keg and making enough noise to be heard over the music.

"oh jesus." John slumped a little in his chair. "This was the worst idea. And now we're bloody stuck! We're bloody drunk!"

"astute observation, my friend. It would appear that we are also trapped by sheer amount of bodies between ourselves and the door." John rubbed his face just as the girl appeared at their little corner table, pulling up a chair.

"right then. Here you are, at a ridiculous party that I don't even want to be attending. Oh, you know, here something to ease the pain a little. Amanda!" She called over her shoulder towards the kitchen and a very pretty brown eyed woman plodded over, looking to be in her mid thirties.

"Amanda, this is Dr. John Watson, and his…flatmate. Maybe you should get him some sprite for this whiskey, it looks a bit dry." Amanda blushed sweetly and held out her hand to the doctor.

"hi, Amanda, it's nice to meet you. There soda right over there if you wanna…" John leapt up before she could even finish her sentence and the two scurried into a dimly lit corner of the kitchen to begin flirting madly.

Sherlock now turned to the girl and smiled.

"well played. But what could be tugging so terribly at your curiousity that you had to get me alone?"

"I have my reasons."

"vague as ever."

"I hope you aren't getting your hopes up because that's unlikely to change." She sipped from the mug, barely breaking eye contact with the rigid man.

"I have more questions."

"I have answers."

"will you give them to me?"

Suddenly, she looked to the west window, and then to the corner where john was already playfully touching Amanda and laughing, then back to Sherlock. She stood up and offered her hand.

"It's not raining anymore."

"Its going to rain again soon, it probably just let up for an hour or so."

"Well, that's all we need isn't it?"

Bright green eyes regarded him, and suddenly the icy exterior was cracked a little bit and he saw warmth in her smile. He took her hand, disregarding the voice in his mind screaming at him to stop, go back upstairs, focus on the case, do something, anything bit this-The same jolt as if electricity has coursed through his body and briefly restarted his heart as her freezing fingers grabbed his. Wordlessly, they slipped through the crowds and out the front door, onto the wet pavement and into the velvet night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Here it is peeps. Real deal goodstuff. This is sort of the end of the 'introductory' part. All the parts are set to go in motion. More to come very soon, please review! **

Fog clung to the edges of the small lake and it reflected the lights of the city in the distance. The dark horizon of trees huddled around the quiet opening. They stood at the edge of the dock, and he waited, wondering what she was planning, or if she was planning anything. The usual rush of thoughts and analysis wasn't stopped, but slowed, quieted by the fuzziness of alcohol and the strange reverie of the peaceful lake, traffic in the far distance. She looked up to the towering shadow, his face particularly pale against the night sky. Without saying anything, she began stripping off her clothes.

"um…"

"come, on, don't be a bloody spoilsport."

She pulled off the tights and dress to reveal a slender thread of a body, lacy underwear clinging to the small frame. She turned to him as he hesitated and shrugged. In a blur of action, the girl had dived into the black waters, disturbing the placid surface and emerging a moment later, turned towards him, grinning widely.

"come on, Sherlock Holmes! Arent you supposed to be, like, really brave? Surely a little cold water doesn't give you the jitters."

"Taunting me is not going to make me get in."

"It'll sober you up, come on."

Sherlock considered the decision before him briefly before experiencing a state of impulsiveness, in which he began pulling off his shirt and pants. He tucked them against a pole and stepped to the edge of the dock , regarding the water. He could practically feel its chill from where he stood. It was definitely a terrible idea.

He jumped in, long limbs flailing. The water was freezing, it hit him like he had run into a brick building at 100 kilometers an hour. His head bobbed up and he gasped, the freezing cold forcing all of his muscles to contract, the shock still making his head reel. He looked over to see her laughing. He kicked and paddled his arms to increase blood flow and create heat in his body. She swam over to him, water dripping from the dark hair onto a pale face. Her makeup was smeared and running down underneath her eyes.

He suddenly felt out of place.

"Why are we out here? Why did you bring me here?"

She inched closer, her breath rising off the frigid water.

"I hardly know."

"don't you think you should be at your party? Or, I should be at home, solving a case."

"Yeah, but we're here."

Moonlight glanced off the water, reflecting off the pointed face as she regarded him with bright green eyes. A rushing noise was starting to drown out the background noise in his mind, as if the constant chatter and thoughts were as far away as the distant traffic. He knew exactly what was happening and his mind took in every signal, every sign that told him this girl was currently sexually interested. He ran through the consequences, every outcome, weighing the possibility of this detached and emotionally distant female as a casual sexual partner, it didn't seem like the worst idea, the likelihood of her becoming attached was minimal-

She swam up to him, her nose nearly touching his.

"Sherlock Holmes, you live in a haze." The decision process on her candidacy as a sexual partner stuttered and faltered. Droplets of water clung to her eyelashes. She tipped her head and before he could make any decision or even continue the train of thought, soft, cold lips pressed against hers. He felt her body bump into his, warm and treading water half and inch apart.

His mind froze for a moment and she pulled away, her hand on his jaw, pinky grazing the sensitive skin of a pale neck. She was smiling, unexpecting of him, possibly assuming that he was possibly traumatized, or shy. As she moved to create distance once again, a look of surprise crossed her face as he reached down, grabbing an incurve and pulling her to him before returning the kiss, lips gently parting and hands grazing her face, moving into soft hair, her own hands around his neck. Hours, days, weeks passed as they made little circles in the water, floating gently in the other wise calm water.


	8. Chapter 8

Seraphina wrapped herself up in her sweatshirt. She was never cold. She hadn't been cold in a very long time. Her stomach writhed uncomfortably as bare feet slapped against the hallway, the lights felt like they were blurring slightly or maybe she was out of focus, yeah it was always her fault. She was all fucked up. Panic rising in her chest, she slammed a fist against the door. She heard voices and footsteps as she glanced behind her frantically, peering down the stairs and clenching her fists in the absolute terror that was breeding a hole in her chest. The door creaked open and Sherlock stood before her, violin dropped from his shoulder, with his flat mate coming over to stand beside him and peer at the broken girl before him. Sherlock looked her up and down, analyzing her assumingly, his brow knotted.

"um, sera?" john asked tentatively. Behind the detective, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it, a wisp of dark smoke, a tragic little glimpse of wicked indiscretion, leaping in sinful joy at every corner her peripheral vision rounded.

"no." she heard the mortified whisper come out of her mouth and sank to her knees. "god, no-" She was sure the doctor was calling out to her, but all she saw was the shadow of a figure coming out from behind the door, one slimy, scaling foot stepping out, a mangled leg to follow, rose thorns piercing the rotting flesh. The jagged hip bones swung ceremoniously, clumps of hair fell to the floor and coal black eyes fixated on her. The foul, naked beast slunk out from behind the corner, stepping cautiously towards Sherlock, where he remained staring at her, completely oblivious to the reeking sack of flesh right behind him. Flies buzzed around the sunken head, congealed blood oozed to the ground and a skeletal finger reached out and touched the detectives black curls. Sera scrambled to her feet and stumbled backwards. Sherlock looked as if he was about to reach out to her, he was saying something but she heard nothing. There was a rushing sound pounding in her ears and she knew a scream was tearing itself from her throat. She fell backwards against the opposite wall of the stairwell and clambered down frantically, pushing the front door open and sprinting into the foggy evening.

**One Week Earlier**

"So. You and the neighbor…"

The doctor wiggled his eyebrows surreptitiously at Sherlock who was as stony as ever in response.

"I don't recall that being part of your love life, so be so kind as to butt out."

John waved his hands in surrender.

"Hey, you know, I'm just making chit chat. Someone has to keep you occupied, and Id rather it was me than the wall." He grimaced as his eyes ran over the holes that interrupted the wallpaper print. "Anyways, anything on that case?"

Sherlock groaned despairingly.

"no. heard naything from Lestrade?"

John sighed, actually almost wistful for a case.

"no, nothing new yet. Though that I actually regret, seeing as I've got to head off to work now. Sitting in an office all day is bloody soul crushing after the shenanigans you put me up to."

"for the last time, John, I most certainly do not coerce you into anything. You insist on stringing along of your own free will."

John sputtered, but decided to leave it and make his way for the office.

"don't shoot any holes in the carpet while I'm gone!" he yelled from the door, right as the dark haired man was about to commence his morning bout of screeching violin to wake Mrs. Hudson.

"No promises."

He started in on a lengthy Bach piece, watching John retreat into a cab and pull off into the widening blue horizon impeded only by skyscrapers. As soon as the doctor had disappeared from view, he carefully placed the violin down, straightened his suit collar and swiftly stepped out of the flat, down the stairs and spun to a stop in front of the shabby door. He gave three sharp raps and within a minute the door swung open. She appraised him with a smirk, wearing a flimsy tank top and skirt.

"well, well. Sherlock Holmes, I didn't take you for the sort of man to ask for seconds."

He grunted unresponsively and swept her up in a furious kiss, pulling the lithe body up. She firmly latched her legs around his hips, reaching behind him to push the door behind them.

Sherlock lay panting atop the pale breasts, his hair slightly damp with sweat and his body shivering slightly as the last waves of pleasure scintillated through him. Sera tugged lightly at the dark curls, leaning down to press upon them a gentle kiss.

"are you positive you were a virgin before me? Because that was bloody fantastic."

He was leaning forward to climb out of her bed, which wasn't really bed, just a mattress on the floor, but she wrapped her arms around him.

"tsk, tsk, don't go making me feel cheap. Besides, you left in a hurry the other night, I was worried I'd gone and traumatized you for life."

He snorted.

'hardly. I rarely have a solid grasp on societal expectations and even when I do I don't particularly care to follow them to a tee."

She laughed and sat up, the sheets falling to her waist.

"No wonder we get along. I was only kidding about making me feel cheap, really. I don't give a fuck if you go or stay. I've gotta get going on anyways, the persistent misery of school drones forth without me."

He climbed out of bed and was dressed in a flash, appearing before the bedraggled girl as impassive and cold as ever when she had only just finished washing her face.

"well then, Sherlock Holmes, I hope you get hungry again."

The heart shaped face tilted up towards him, green eyes sparkling in the afternoon light and red lips curving upwards. His mask faltered for but a moment as he leaned down to kiss her once more before striding out. She leaned against the bedroom doorframe, watching the tall figure bound out the door. He opened the door and was pulling it shut when he suddenly walked backwards into her flat again.

She raised an eyebrow as he looked to her, then to her bookshelf, then back to her.

"um…would you like something? Besides sex, I might need a few minutes to recover-"

He held his hand up and slunk up to her bookshelf, crouching briefly before pulling something off and examining it. The piercing eyes now turned to regard her without any warmth, deducing every minute detail of her from head to toe. She felt the eyes scale over her body coldly and a shiver ran down her spine. He held up the book. _Alices adventures in wonderland. _

"Where did you get this?"

"I bought it. The other day."

The eyes were alive with action now, blazing with intellect and curiosity.

"Where, where did you buy it?"

"Down the street, hardly ten blocks down. Nice little bookshop."

Without a word, he fled the apartment, almost vanishing he moved so swiftly.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hi lovely readers! Those of you reading, THANK YOU. Its so much fun to share this stuff. And heres my little forewarning-this is about to get pretty creepy. Like, if you have a fear of stalkers, DO NOT READ ON. If you seek cheap thrills, by all means…**

**A few notes on my character: Seraphina is a mystery to everyone, including herself. Yes, she does drugs and drinks, but she is not addicted or an alocohol, it is a coping mechanism of sorts. I know she does not seem like the domestic angel Sherlock deserves, and she isn't, but….no happy endings. **** tehee. Anyhoos, enjoy and please review!**

The wisp of a girl was haunting a massive crowd. Tuesday night, and her boredom was starting to drive her out of her mind in the tiny flat, watching as the shadows of night grew longer and the streetlight danced behind them. She floated over to the bar and pulled up a stool next to Lisa.

"heyo."

"oh, jesus, you bloody scared me. Hey, you wouldn't happen to know that Chris guy, would you? The one that was dating sarah for a bit?"

"no. maybe. I don't bother with names often. Vodka." She tossed sevreal notes at the bartender who smiled at her widely. Lisa chuckled.

"Rick is being a prat again."

"when did he stop?"

"uh, never. Anyways, lets get bloody trashed, eh?"

The blonde haired girl swallowed the rest of her fruity drink and sera hardly had time to down her own drink before she was dragged into the bathroom with her friend. They ran into Michelle on the way in, a curly haired girl with glasses and tattoos from head to toe.

"hey, what are you two-oh wait a sec, I'm coming too."

Sera laughed as the three of them crowded into the end stall and Lisa whipped out a dvd case.

"what happened to the mirror?"

"Whatdyou think? I got really fucked up this weekend, that party you had was wicked."

Michelle exclaimed at the sight of the brown substance.

"hey, hold it, that's not cocaine!"

Seraphina and Lisa burst out laughing.

"no," Lisa giggled, "It's molly."

"oh hi molly, I'm Michelle, nice to meet you…" the giggling trio proceeded to finish off the contents of the bag before heading back into the bar. Seraphina followed her friends into the dimly lit room, her sense becoming marvelously distorted, warmth and shivers of pleasure echoing all over her body. She was briefly reminded of Sherlock, pushing her up against a wall and biting at her neck, but she pushed the thought to the back of her mind, choosing to focus instead on the flashing lights and fragmented sentences her friends were piecing into conversation.

They were sitting in a dark corner booth when some blocklike creature bumbled out what she assumed was his idea of flirting. She must have seemed confused, because the square face in front of her was falling slowly with the slow realization of rejection. A pale hand tapped on his shoulder and as the boulder man turned around, a familiar face swam at the front of her vision.

"mr. Holmes, can you really not go a whole day without seeing me?"

The tall man loomed considerably over her where she sat.

"you are remarkably high."

"yes. Your skills as a detective are simply magnificent to behold." The detective furrowed his brow and then shuffled a bit awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable in the strange atmosphere. She sighed and scooted over, making room at the end of the booth.

"cmon, don't just stand there looking all dejected." He sat beside her and she pushed her vodka glass towards him. He took a sip and turned to her, regarding her with same burning curiousity as earlier.

"I need to ask you a few questions."

Feeling surpsiingly warm, and lustful for the taste of the detectives skin, she slid a hand up his leg.

"Questions? Are you here on a case? I don't even get a little kiss?"

He stiffened slightly as her hand slid further and further up his thigh, clenching the slender jaw.

"I was under the impression we had a purely sexual relationship."

She leaned in towards his neck, inhaling the fresh scent he carried and breathing warmly on his neck. He visibly shuddered. Grudgingly, he turned to the pointed face and kissed her, momentarily distracted by the warm lips parting for his tongue, until she pulled away, looking smug.

"the one hood I can pull over your eyes Mr Holmes, don't think I'm just going to let it go to waste. What questions, then?"

He leaned back, reprimanding her with his icy eyes.

"about that book. When did you buy it and who did you talk to?"

She shrugged.

"um, some scrawny little teenager, little shit kept checking me out. I bought it the day I moved in, realized I had forgotten it at my last place. It's…kind of an important book to me."

Sherlock cocked his head, a thousand questions clearly begging to fall from his lips, but he stuck to the issue at hand.

"Right. Did you know the owner, or had ever been there before?"

"ha, no. I was hardly there for more than a few minutes, I knew what I wanted going in, never saw anyone but the rat faced kid."

"hmm. What time did you buy the book?"

"oh jeez, what time is it now? Fuck me, Sherlock I never look at bloody clock. I'm going to wildly guess it was about four in the afternoon. But-" She held a finger up to his mouth as he was about to pelt her with another question, "I have to know a few things before you interrogate me into oblivion."

He groaned impateitnly and rolled his eyes.

"Fine, what?"

"first, how the holy fuck did you know it was that book?" he gave an exasperated look, but spat out the perfect analysis anyways, contradicting the unwilling attitude with obvious eagerness to show off.

"The rest of the books were worn, the pages indented and spaced apart from being dog eared, you really shouldn't do that, there were prints covering the glossy covers on all the hardbacks, worn paper on all the soft covers, various stains that from a distance appeared to be wine, once again, the fashion in which you treat your literature collection is atrocious, and worn letters on the bindings all made the one brand new book sitting next to them stick out like a sore thumb. I beg of you to take it little easier on the newest member of the shelf." She leaned down to light a cigarette and regarded him with glowing eyes.

"hmm. All right then." He tilted his head in confusion.

"not, 'piss off'? not brilliant, or freaky, or anything?"

She gave him a glare that cut straight through his bravado and ego.

"youre smart. That's great for you, but your IQ doesn't particularly concern me, does it? Now, next question. How do I fit into whatever case youre doing up? I mean, I haven't exactly been romping around murdering people, so why am I being interrogated?"

The detective took another sip of vodka, shaking the burning sensation off.

"I don't quite know yet. Seeing as you were…with me the night of the murder, it's obvious you have no part in it. But somehow, you do. You buy the book at five that evening, and then the very same night, the owner of the store is murdered. I don't believe in coincidences."

Her eyes twitched upwards, suddenly meeting his, flashing green, pupils dilated.

"me neither. I'm not really one for romance, but murder linking us together…what girl could resist?"

He looked down at her. She was strange looking, to be sure, her jaw shaped more like a deer's than anything, the slender neck that angled upwards towards a soft curve that came up to meet the dark hairline. Impulsively, he leaned down and bit the neck gently, eliciting a soft moan of surprise. He withdrew and she regarded him questionably.

"hungry?"

"not really."

Ignoring the sudden strange interaction that had occurred, he went about straightening his collar.

"anyways, I'm going to have to do some investigation into your past, pretty much everything on you I can pull up and when that doesn't go anywhere, I'll be asking you personally."

"yeah, that's not gonna happen." She stiffened suddenly, all the previous warmth slipping from her face and leaving a cool exterior that now appeared masklike.

"you could be in danger."

"trust me, Mr Holmes, you are in far more danger just knowing me." She shook her head. "look, just hold your thoughts, I've gotta go to the loo."

He barked out a sarcastic laugh.

"right, cant handle a conversation without being totally fritzed."

"um…not when it's a conversation involving my possible murderous tendancies."

"happens to the best of us." she rolled her eyes at him and flitted off to the bathroom, a slight bounce in her step that made the short skirt flounce slightly, showcasing the stemlike legs. He gazed unashamedly, mouth twitching up into a smile. Yes, this could prove to be quite a fruitful partnership of sorts.

Seraphina pulled the stall door shut behind her and whipped out the small bag from her cleavage. This was turning into a particularly weird night. Virgin detective that was making her second guess her desire for the brown powder dangling in front of her. Yuck, next thing she'd be baking him cake. With a hearty sigh, she tucked the bag back into place and proceeded to fix her skirt, when she heard the bathroom door open. She paused, a footstep, and then the door shut again. Someone changed their mind apparently. She shrugged and walked back out into the bar. She sat to order another round, when she felt it.

Cold, the strange chills that never affected her body except-

She raised her head and looked at the smeared bar mirror in front of her. People behind her playing pool, everyone drinking, a group of drunk girls clinging to each other for balance-as her gaze moved from one end of the mirror to the other, she was suddenly filled with the worst kind of anticipation.

There. Outside, almost pressed against the bar window. Staring straight at her reflection, which often seemed so frigid, now imprinted with terror. Blood dripped from her hands as her nails dug into her palms. Her body was rigid and she shook like a leaf in the wind as she climbed down from the stool and walked back towards the booth, glancing at the window from her peripheral vision. Though she saw him, she didn't need to to know that his eyes were following her without blinking until she disappeared from view.

She came up to the booth and saw the curly headed man tapping his fingers on the table, lost in his own world of quiet genius, completely oblivious to all the true terrors of the world, and she made a decision.

"Sherlock Holmes, leave me alone."

"What? I thought you were getting a drink-"

"I told you, I'm-I'm not good, Sherlock. You need to stop fucking around with me, we never should've slept together. I'm…everything I touch turns to ash, and that will not exclude you."

He stood up, his fiery gaze meeting hers squarely.

"Thanks for the disclaimer. Now that I've heard it, I can tell you properly that I don't need anyone looking out for me. I am more than capable of taking care of myself and a few others, thanks."

She swallowed, glancing behind herself nervously, trying not to meet his gaze as he noticed her twitchiness.

"right, well, cant say I didn't try. Just…watch your back." And with this, she turned on her heel and left him standing in the middle of a nightclub, looking like a proper idiot.

As he walked home, he couldn't help himself from thinking-

_What the fuck was that about?_


End file.
